


with a song in my heart

by louciferish



Series: 2020 Soulmate Week [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Gen, Music, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, YOI Soulmate Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26011021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: Soulmates are born with the same song in their heart that only they can hear. Victor knowingly does something forbidden when he chooses to compose a version of his heartsong, then skates to it, hoping the person who shares it will hear.
Series: 2020 Soulmate Week [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884250
Comments: 10
Kudos: 135





	with a song in my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Posting a day late, but this was intended for Soulmate Week, Day two, themed "Sound"

Victor was only two when he first attempted to hum the song. It came out as a mangled, tuneless thing, nothing like the soaring melody he heard in his dreams, racing through his blood. Frustrated, he gave up. It had to sound _right_.

He’d started ballet not long after, and then piano. Perched on the bench, small legs swinging, he tapped out a note here, a note there. They were the right notes - that he knew for certain - but the melody wasn’t there at all. His chubby little hands couldn’t reach the keys fast enough, couldn’t hold the notes long enough. With a a crashing crescendo, he took out his anger on the keys with his elbows.

The first time it came out something like right, Victor wasn’t even doing it on purpose. He was six by then, and he had traded piano for ice skating in an attempt to curb the tornado of his furious energy. He was cross-legged on the floor, his back to the roaring fireplace, with crayons scattered all around him as he scrawled out a drawing - a harsh blue blob topped with a mop of gray, a fat gold disc at its center - Victor, winning the gold medal.

He didn’t even know he was humming until he heard his mama’s echoing gasp from the sofa. “Vitenka, niet!” 

Victor stopped his scribble, staring up with wide blue eyes, not understanding what was wrong. 

His mama put aside her book and folded to the floor, and Victor left his artwork, crawling along the living room rug until he could climb up into her lap and emmesh his hands in her long, silver curls. She squeezed him, and Victor knew whatever he did, it couldn’t be too bad.

“That song you were humming,” his mama murmured, taking his hands, “my darling, that’s your special song, isn’t it?” Victor nodded, blinking up into her pale green eyes, and she smiled. “It’s lovely, but you mustn’t sing it like that, okay? Not outside the house at least, and never in public.”

“Why not, mama?”

“Because that song is just for you and your special someone, when you’re older.” She put her hand on his chest, where he could feel the song beat in his heart. “It’s private, just for the two of you. When you find someone special, you’ll hum that song for them, and if it’s their song too, you’ll both know.”

Victor frowned, not understanding. “But how will we know if I keep my song a secret.”

“You’ll know,” his mama said quietly. “You’ll both know.”

Victor was twenty-five when he hired the first composer. When the woman learned what she was meant to do, she went pale. With shaking hands, she handed Victor back his notes, averting her eyes from the pages.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Fine. I’ll find someone else, then.”

The composer didn’t need to say anything more. Her disbelief was palpable - and correct.

It took almost two years of searching for Victor to find someone willing to work on his project. He lost count of how many other composers he met with, each of them raising their hackles and pushing him aside when they learned what he wanted, unwilling to take his money when it meant work on something so verboten. 

He was tempted to lie to the next one, but no. Whoever he finally worked with, they needed to understand the gravity of what he was doing, how important the project was.

It was a young woman who accepted at last, though she shook at first and lowered her eyes. She’d barely finished her degree at a conservatory in the US when she responded to Victor’s inquiry and had no significant credits to her name. 

“You clearly intend to do this,” she said with a shrug when Victor asked her why. “Someone’s going to take your money eventually. It might as well be me.”

Creating the final version still took months. Back and forth they went, the composer relaying drafts and Victor adjusting notes here and there, altering the tempo of certain sections. For years he’d been commissioning new songs for his programs, but by far this was his most collaborative. That was necessary, though. It would be his most personal program yet.

When at last the final version was in his hands, Victor went directly to Yakov. He watched in silence as his coach put in the earbuds and pressed play.

Yakov frowned as the song began. After only a few minutes, he pulled the headphones away. They dangled between the two men by their cord, a tinny melody barely audible as the song played on.

“Vitya, is this--”

“My new free program,” Victor said firmly. “The choreography’s already half done. I only need your help deciding some of the jumps. If you’re uncomfortable--”

“You’re going to do this no matter what I say, aren’t you.”

“Yes.” 

Yakov heaves a sigh and shakes his head, then hands Victor his phone back. “Alright. Let’s see what you have so far. And whoever this song is for… I sure as hell hope he hears it.”


End file.
